


I Need You Here

by HollowPhoenix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, i cant not do a cheesy ending, i dont know what I should be tagging, probably super ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 12:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7617262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowPhoenix/pseuds/HollowPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's got me thinking. I should go back, shouldn't I? To Tevinter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need You Here

           Sarrahel's hands sifted through his hair as he treaded down the stairwell as quickly as possible without it being obvious that he was upset. He cried over everything, he thought. He was too emotional. He blamed it on the Hearthkeeper's vallaslin upon his face.

           Leaving? Just like that? He didn't think love was so cruel.

           He reached the last step and pressed himself against the frame of the door. He reassured Solas that everything was just fine when he asked if something was wrong. _Lethallin,_ he called him. He recalled the mistaken _Lethallan_ that escaped apostate lips at Haven, but no apology followed. How he had offered to remove the vallaslin over his eyelid. How he'd refused and run away.

_Everything's fine._

           Lies. _Nothing_ was fine. He'd invested his emotions and love in someone who was about to walk away. He ignored Josephine's reports, gently pushed past a few people that were in the way, and put off meeting with Morrigan to hide away in his quarters for a while.

           He gazed up at the stairs when he first entered. He didn’t want to climb them. He didn't feel up to it. His legs were aching and he felt empty. But, as always, he managed.

           The bed was almost a comforting place… but it smelled too much like earth and strong perfumes. Like _him._ Sarrahel remembered the first time he had allowed him into it. It was a nervous, unsure sort of atmosphere, but the moment the distance closed between them, he knew there was something there. Something good; something safe. He furrowed his brow slightly, remembering how unexpected it had been when the man growled into his ear that he wouldn't be on top. Don't get him wrong, it was his understanding that that was the way it would go beforehand. But he'd never had such a direct lover. That is, until he saw it for himself; until he was a broken, panting mess of Elvish profanities.

           Sarrahel shut his eyes. He felt like calling upon Falon'Din himself to take him to the Beyond. He had dealt with such situations before, where someone had to leave. But nothing had been as real as this relationship had been. This was abandonment. He hadn't bothered to mention to his lover than he had been pure at the time; that what he was about to give him was something more than just his body, but his devotion. But he didn't mention it because he thought that he already knew that. The way he looked at him told him so.

           Look at him, imagining like it was already said and done, and Dorian was off to Tevinter, leaving him behind and never returning. He _did_ tend to get ahead of himself quite often.

           Then, a hushed, quick knock at his door made him blink from thought. He hadn't locked it, so he wouldn't get up to open it. Instead, he shouted down the staircase for the visitor to enter and state their business. He heard the knob click and someone slipped inside. Their boots sounded heavy, expensive. The pattern they walked up the stairs in was getting increasingly familiar. Said pattern halted at the top of the steps, and Sarrahel already knew who it was. He just wouldn't look.

           "Who is it, I wonder?" He asked, halfway earnestly. At least he tried.

           "It's the evil Tevinter mage, here for your life essence, as usual."

           "Oh really..?"

           "Of course! I plan to consume it, as all proper mages do."

           He shook his head, still lying stomach-up on the bed. "What did you want, Dorian?"

           " _I_ wanted to see if I could steal you away from your busy schedule for a moment."

           "What?"

           "'What'? Are you implying you aren't busy then? What a _convenient_ turn of events."

           "No, I mean, why do you only ever come up here for sex? You never enter my quarters for any other reason than sex, in one form or another." Sarrahel stood up now, staring the mage in the eyes. He knew what he said was a lie. He gritted his teeth behind shut lips. "Is that all I am to you? A release?"

           Dorian stood, unmoving at the top of the stairs. Sarrahel swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. The hole was dug now. No going back from those poisoned words.

           " _That's_ why it’s so easy to leave me, then."

           "…I see you're upset."

           "Divines, of course I'm upset! You act like leaving me in one place away from you while you go somewhere I could _never_ go is just one more measly task. One more simple inconvenience. Nothing's too difficult for Inquisitor Lavellan. Guess what, Dorian, this _is._ Out of all the vile shit I've been through, _this_ is my breaking point. You promised me we'd be together for a long, long time after this was over. You made me _care_ about you. What in Maker's name is your problem?" The elf was inches from his face now, pain and anger written in his expressions.

           Dorian remained blank. He thought such a decision could cause issues between them, but… nothing like this.

           "Do you care? Do you even give a damn?" Sarrahel whispered, not even looking the mage in his eyes. Do you care…? What kind of a question was that?

_"Amatus…_ I…" _Words._ He needed _words._ Come on, Dorian, don’t make a bigger mess of this. "…I told you I wasn't terribly gifted with relationships. I didn’t mean to upset you when I said I was thinking of leaving. Traveling with an elf into Tevinter isn't particularly as easy as pie, you see. We would be waist-deep in shit. The Archon's shit, the Divine's shit, shit everywhere. "

           "Be serious, Dorian."

           A sigh. "Elves in Tevinter are either low-class citizens, or slaves. Maybe even both. People know you're what? An elf. But it's not like they actually _believe_ it; at least they don't want to. They see it with their own eyes? Whoops, scandal. "A savage?" they'll say. "Lock him up!"."

           "What're you on about, Dorian?"

           "People will put you into the same cookie-cutter position that they place every elf in. It's a bit like Halamshiral, but different, because in a Tevinter-based story, elves die. You set foot in Tevinter, they'll enslave you and castrate me. Surprise, there _isn't_ a happy ending."

           "They can't do that, I'm an official. You can't just _off_ an official."

           "Yes, ok, right, but what's stopping them? What's stopping the Archon and everyone else from turning a blind eye? To them, what's a dead elf and a sterile magister? It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke."

           "You can't stop me, I want to come with you."

           Dorian clutched his wrists just then, his grasp a bit firm. _"Listen_ to me, Sarrahel, do you realize how many people in my homeland think of you, and you in particular, as some rare creature, waiting to be stunned and captured? I've read the letters, heard the rumors. I have past _colleagues_ that speak to me about "bedding a ginger rabbit" and how they've heard tales of how "the ones with green eyes glow when they orgasm". There's bloody tales! Vulgar ones at that. Do you realize why you need to be far, _far_ away from Tevinter? If they so much as share a passing glance with you, it's all over." His expression faltered. "Amatus.. Oh, Maker, _Amatus."_ He collapsed, his weight taking Sarrahel back a step. He was crying. Actually crying.

           Pale elven hands stroked lines over his back, rubbing over belts and expensive fabric. Neglected, untrimmed fingernails coursing through dark hair.

           "Shh, stop it, now.. If you cry, Maker knows I'll _definitely_ lose it."

           No change. If anything, fingers gripped his clothes tighter, as if to adhere himself permanently to his elf lover.

           " _Mythal enaste_ , Dorian. Stop it." The elf whispered. "Shh, _ma vhenan. Ne'din numin, ne'emma lath. Ne'emma lath._ "

           A sniffle. _Progress._ "Don't do that. I find it inexplicably difficult to tell when you're badmouthing me."

           Sarrahel chuckled and breathed him in. Rainy earth, gentle petrichor. "Badmouthing _you?_ Never, _vhenan."_

           "What is _'vhenan',_ then?" He asked accusingly, pronunciation unsure and Tevene.

           Sarrahel planted kisses into his neck and shut his eyes. "My heart."

           Pulsating warmth against his shoulder, Tevinter-rich breath finally becoming rhythmic rather than erratic. "funny," he said.

           "What is, Dorian? Tell me." The elf rocked him, as if he was a child.

           He paused for a moment, as if harboring a secret, then finding trust in his lover to keep it. "Amatus means the same."

           Sarrahel exhaled, both in respite and exhaustion. His grip on Dorian's clothes tightened again. _Don't let go. Not yet. Too early._ "Don't you ever.." A stutter. Holding back more tears. _Too emotional, Sarrahel._ "Don't you ever cry again, you hear me?"

           It was Dorian's turn to place gingerly kisses over his lover's tired skin. "No promises."

**Author's Note:**

> diverting from canon in the sense that Solas asks the inquisitor to get rid of his vallaslin even though he isn't in a romance with him but rip canon amirite
> 
> this was sitting on my computer for about 600 years and i finally got around to finishing it, it's 4 AM  
> send help


End file.
